Liam didn't move.
He stood there, surrounded by powerful men and beautiful women, but his gaze was fixed—frozen—on the woman now standing center stage, bathed in light.
Isabella.
Alive. Glowing. Unbothered.
For a moment, everything else faded.
The auctioneer announced the next item, but Liam barely heard it. All he could see was the way her lips curled into a soft, victorious smile… the way she accepted the congratulatory nods from strangers, as if she belonged there—because now, she did.
Audrey leaned in and whispered something to Isabella. They both laughed.
That laughter—it sliced through him.
He remembered a time when she used to laugh like that at his side. When she used to wear that exact look of quiet pride—for him.
Now, it was for herself.
"Mr. Sinclair?" a man beside him asked. "Are you still bidding?"
Liam's jaw tightened. "No," he said curtly.
He took a step forward, unable to stop himself. He didn't plan it. His body just moved.
He needed to see her up close. He needed to know what had changed.
When she stepped down from the stage, their eyes met again. This time, she didn't look away.
"Long time no see, Liam," she said, her voice calm, smooth as silk.
He blinked. "You—You're back."
She smiled faintly. "Were you hoping I wouldn't be?"
There was a pause.
"I didn't know," he said softly, voice almost hoarse. "No one told me."
"You didn't ask."
Boom.
His heart thudded.
Before he could reply, she turned to leave. The hem of her crimson dress trailed behind her like a flame.
He didn't know whether to follow… or to run.
All he knew was that the woman he once took for granted had come back sharper, colder, and untouchably radiant.
And she wasn't his anymore.